Albert Pla, Catalan, has a shit voice, sandpaper, torn almost in a whisper that makes you believe you can never captivate. And hit every note perfect, with the singing line and in perfect harmony. Then it makes you eyes wide open and pay more attention and you start with the letter and you see a guy with sharp, acid, corrosive, almost a mess of people, those who are able to sing for you to die, only for the pleasure of seeing you die. Albert Pla's voice will bark. Do not scrape as Chabela that tells you your pain. I scraped as Albert Pla, that makes you hurt because life hurts while it amuses you, fascinates you, you life reveals itself: dark, horrible, gross and bizarre, to laughter.
Maybe the hand / and rose to be a pig / I forget that I am / and so do not miss anything ... (I miss)
If one day I die / and I have not avenged / all the damage you've done to me / I will become a ghost / and soulless for my soul! / That you pay all your putadas ... (Ghost)
to me a damn / if the world runs on batteries / butane or gasoline ... (The Rooster)
I want you to suffer / what I suffer / and learn to pray / to do ... (He suffers like me)
.
.
.
Below is a selection of varied styles ditties so they can taste them and constipation (or masturbate) comfortable, according to what I mole ..
speak tomorrow from what was given to whether the weekend .. I have no time today .. forgive me if they want ..
.
.
.
.
.
and you do not forget the moments that we spent yesterday, which will be the moments that will come tomorrow ..
0 comments:
Post a Comment